Practically Joking
by Ed's Tomato
Summary: Humor is really subjective. Toad's especially. Oneshot.


_A/N: Well this is a wretched little oneshot where Toad behaves like a Grade A, First Class Asshole. He really can be, you know. He's not all fluffy bunnies and misunderstood cuddlebumps all the time. Probably not even often. It's rated M for Mature language and some un-detailed Mature goings-on. If that sort of thing doesn't float your potato then bypass this'n._

-

-

-

**Practically Joking:**

I see opportunity the minute I lay eyes on her.

I don't like Pretties as a rule, and she _is _in more than one sense: Blonde hair, blue eyes, big tits, flat belly, nice ass. She's the stripper next door, and she doesn't really belong with us.

It 's a double standard maybe (poor little mite can't help how she looks any more than I can), but I don't like to think too hard on why I feel the way I do about the things I do. I'm sure some shrink would turn up doozies, but I'm content to hate who I get it into my head to hate and like those buggers who don't annoy me too terribly much. That's a short list. Facts is facts. Pretties don't have it as rough as Freaks like me, never have, never will. So, when she shows up, looking to make the island home and us family, I see turnabout.

I got a good sense of humor. It's fuckin hilarious when I crush some Flatscanned badge-wearer under my boots like he's an empty beer can. It's funny to pinch away the self esteem of the pretty and the perfect and the problem free. And I love to fight. Nothing better than punishing someone for underestimating the short guy (me). I find taking life too seriously in my line of work is just pointless. Gonna end sooner than later anyway, might just as well get in my kicks.

So here's Boom Boom. The name alone's enough to send me into a fit of giggles. She's wearing a skirt when I pick her up for her very first trip out to the island. A fuckin' short skirt (I mean the kind of skirt you can literally fuck in). The kind where if I crane my head just right I might get a look at what's underneath. I do. That's just the kind of bastard, I am. I love it when women don't wear underwear.

"Wax or shave?" I asked her congenially, plastering an unpleasant smile on my face (all of my smile's are unpleasant. I'm not real good to look at).

"Huh?" Aww, this one's sharp as a tack too. Helium in her tits must've killed a few brain cells.

"_Do. You. Wax. Your. Pussy? Or. Do. You. Shave_?"

There we are, finally getting it, good gel. I grin impossibly wider at the flush of red that makes its way up to her ears and the haughty answer.

"_Excuse me?!_" She sputters.

"Excused. Was just asking because I don't much like stubble on my cheeks."

"Oh ur..._what_? ... You wax your_ face_?"

It's real hard to keep a straight face. Maybe that hair came in a bottle and she inhaled too much.

"No, sweetheart, I mean when I'm eating you. Don't much like t'get carpet burn."

"Wuh?" She makes some unintelligible noises here, "_As **IF**_!"

"Bless, you're adorable. Bet you squeal like a stuck piggie when you come too."

"What th'_HELL_ is your problem, _Asshole_!?"

"Me? I'm worry free, no problems here, kitten."

She's giving me the silent treatment. I love when slutty little tramps get their knickers (proverbial, mind, since she doesn't have any) in a twist about being called slutty little tramps. Like it's news to her she's got a big sign below her belly button with an arrow pointing 'Enter Here'.

Squirming around in her seat and trying to pull that tube top down enough to actually resemble a skirt, and keeping her face firmly fixed away from mine lasts all of ten minutes. She's the chatty type seems like, or a glutton for punishment.

"Is it far?"

I've had better conversations with a tree stump. Honestly. I was high as a kite at the time and I'm still not sure what on, but it was a sodding better conversation. And the tree stump put out (I kid, I kid).

"S'right here, love," I promise, patting myself between the thighs, and nearly giggle myself silly when she turns to see where I'm gesturing.

"Christ on a cracker, _would you stop_!?!" She screams at me in exasperation, "Seriously? What? You're expecting me to hop on for a ride?!"

I wiggle my eyebrows at her fiendishly and look pointedly down at her skirt.

"Well y'certainly dressed for the occasion," Then I turn more serious, "You'll have to eventually, anyway, no reason to be a prude about it."

"What?" There's that naive uncertainty, man she does NOT belong with the Brotherhood.

"Being th'newbie an all," I tell her conspiratorially, "Lowest on th'totem get th'job of...ah...givin th'rest of us a little relief."

She scowls at me and crosses her arms over her chest.

"That's bullshit," But then goes right on to prove she might just believe me after all, "If that's true who was the last person with the job?"

"Pyro, and as pretty as that little wanker is, I prefer pussy."

That jaw of hers clenches up tight and she's staring at me with a large amount of mistrust, but I see her considering it and shrug as though it doesn't matter to her. Aw, bless that brave little toaster. She's wearing nearly as much bravado as makeup.

"We've all of us done it, love. Just another part of th'job. Th'Brotherhood's a family. We gotta take care of all each other's needs."

"I gotta?" She finally asks grudgingly and I scowl at her, all traces of humor gone.

"You _GET_ to. It's a fuckin' privilege to do what you can to help y'betters. We'll be feedin', clothin', housin' and trainin' you and we expect you to be grateful."

She blanches at that, a little pale but cor, she's nodding. She moving her hands to grip the seat instead of folded across those ample tits. Her expression becomes more thoughtful, reasonable.

"Yeah, no...I'm sorry. I just...you sounded like you were joking before. I _am _grateful. I need this, I've no place else t'go."

I turn my head just a little, study her seriously, a sad look in my eyes. Understanding.

"You've a place now."

She's on her knees between my legs before we reach the island. I carefully power down as I bring the helicopter into the hanger and lean back to enjoy this, hand on her head to keep the rhythm I want. Her mouth's talented and I'm grinning and offering her little words of encouragement as my door opens and Sabretooth looks in.

There's only one pregnant pause before his guffaws echo down the cavernous tunnels into the compound we call home.

"I fucking can't believe you got another one."

She lifts her head quizzically, not quite getting the joke yet, but alarmed.

"Hey I'm not finished! _Cor, Vic, you could let me enjoy this b'fore you tell her I'm having a bit of fun_."

I've a sodding marvelous sense of humor. Bloody priceless.

Pyro fell for it too.


End file.
